Page 14 of Silent Night Temptation

Heavy?

Her words stop me cold, drawing me out of my tangled thoughts. Heavy? That’s what she’s thinking? I shake my head, stunned by how absurd it sounds. Yes, she had fallen from the ladder, and yes, catching her had been a challenge, but not because she was heavy. I’d held her easily enough. Now, hearing her say that, something stirs inside me, something protective and even tender.

“You’re not heavy,” I say, shaking my head as the corners of my mouth lift into a faint smile. “You were like a feather in my arms.” There’s a teasing edge to my voice, but the truth of it rings clear.

“A feather?” she repeats, her brow arching in disbelief.

I step closer, the awkwardness dissipating with each step. I stand before her, reach down and gently, but firmly, lift her back into my arms. Her eyes widen again, but this time it’s not from shock. She looks up at me, and I feel the air between us change. For a moment, it’s like we’re suspended in time, connected in a way neither of us can name.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, my voice low, “a feather to me.”

She says nothing.

I set her down again, carefully, but there’s a softness in her expression, a trace of bashfulness that is clear. I notice the way her eyes drop to my trousers again. The bulge is still there and unrelenting, a reminder of the tension that hangs.

I swallow hard. I feel the heat rise in my chest, but the weight of her stare is a thousand times heavier than her body had ever been in my arms. I need to say something, anything, to breakthis spell. This moment is something neither of us knows how to handle.

“It’s… it’s just been a while since I’ve been this close to a woman,” I admit, my voice quieter than I intend. The words come out awkward and rough, but they tumble out of me, trying to answer the question in her eyes.

She lifts her gaze to meet mine, and it’s then that I realize just how close we are. Our bodies are mere inches apart. I can feel her breath on my skin, soft and warm, brushing against my chin like a whisper. The space between us feels fragile.

And then, in that heartbeat of silence, something tilts. It pulls at me and at her. I move toward her, almost without thinking, as though my body is no longer under my command, but drawn to her by some unseen force. Her focus stays glued to my face, and she moves too, matching my slow, tentative step. We inch closer, the world narrowing to just this moment.

When our lips meet, it’s as if a spark ignites, setting everything ablaze. The kiss is soft at first, almost hesitant, but then something inside me snaps. It’s as if a dam breaks, and all the restraint and uncertainty are washed away in the flood. I pull her to me with a wildness I can’t control. Her soft curves press against me, sending jolts of pleasure through my entire body this time.

She presses harder into my bulge, and I can feel her breath quickening, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow bursts. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and urging me on. The kiss deepens with a fierce, raw, and electric yearning behind it.

It’s as though we’ve both been set loose; two animals lost in the depths of their instincts, consumed by an uncontrolled, ferocious passion. There’s no room for thought, no space for hesitation. Just the two of us, crashing into each other with an urgency so powerful that it threatens to tear us apart.

But then, suddenly, everything halts. The spell shatters.

She pulls away abruptly, her breath ragged and her hand flies to her mouth in shock. Her eyes broaden, her chest heaving as if she’s just surfaced from deep water. “Oh my God,” she gasps, her words muffled behind her trembling fingers.

I stand there, still caught in the heat of the moment, my body screaming for more even as my mind reels. Guilt and confusion crash into me like waves, and I stumble backward, as if putting distance between us could somehow undo what just happened. “I’m… I’m sorry…” I stammer, my voice hoarse and thick with the weight of what we’ve done.

The air between us is heavier than ever before. If the awkwardness before had been difficult, now it feels unbearable. We stand there, frozen, the reality of what we’ve just done sinking in. The silence stretches as we both try to process the gravity of the moment we’ve just shared.

***

Nyree

The morning is heavy with awkward, inescapable, and unspoken tension. I feel it from the moment I wake. The warmth of the blankets cocoon my body, but my mind is swirling with what happened last night. The kiss.

The kiss.

It plays over and over in my head, a moment suspended in time that I cannot shake. No matter how much I try to pretend it didn’t happen, the truth remains—it did. And now, I don’t know how to face him.

I look at my phone to see the time; it's 11:30 a.m. on December 24th. I shuffle out of bed, my legs still shaky from the fitful, short sleep. Outside, the storm hasn’t let up. Snow whips against the windowpanes, a howling reminder we’re still trapped in this winter wonderland, together. I pause, closing my eyes as I try to gather myself and suppress the pulse of emotion that swirls beneath my skin whenever I think of him. The heat, the intensity, the hunger of that kiss. It was like nothing I’ve ever feltbefore. But now, in the light of day, I’m left wondering if it was a mistake. Maybe we both just got caught up in something we shouldn’t have. My friend’s father should be off limits, but I can’t help but feel guilt about what happened, despite how good it felt.

I slip into a thick sweater and head downstairs. The house feels colder now, the air crisp with the biting remnants of the storm outside. I find him in the kitchen, his back to me as he prepares breakfast. He moves with that same quiet efficiency, every motion deliberate and controlled. The same hands that held me so fiercely last night now calmly flip pancakes on the stove, as if nothing has changed.

But everything has changed.

“Good morning,” my voice is quieter than I intend.

He turns, his eyes catching mine for the briefest of moments before they turn away.

“Good morning,” he replies, the word clipped, almost cautious. It’s clear he’s feeling the weight of last night, too. We’re both trying, struggling even, to pretend like everything is normal. But I can feel the tension buzzing in the air. It’s as if both our minds are tangled with thoughts we’re too afraid to say aloud—thoughts we might not even fully understand.

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